


On The Trail

by within_a_dream



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: When Sam Chisolm steps in to break up a fight, he doesn't expect the man whose skin he saves to be a former Confederate sniper, and he certainly doesn't expect the two of them to end up as travelling companions.Well, life has a way of surprising you.





	On The Trail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jolien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolien/gifts).



> Many thanks to telm_393 for betaing!

Sam noticed the man getting the shit beat out of him before he noticed the gray coat. In fact, he’d already stepped into the fray when he saw the victim’s uniform, although he’d like to think he would have broken things up regardless.

"What seems to be the problem here, fellas?"

The men stepped back from the scuffle, each of them eyeing Sam over. "Nothing that concerns you," one of them said. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "I don’t believe we’ve met."

Sam offered his hand. "I’m Sam Chisolm, duly sworn warrant officer from  Wichita, Kansas, formerly of the First Kansas Colored Infantry." He was ready to break out the persuasion, the heavy-handed  _ sure would be a shame if I had cause to turn you gentlemen in _ , but the man who appeared to be the ringleader backed off, the others following soon after.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chisolm. I do hope you won’t think us impolite for heading on our way."

"Of course not." Sam tipped his hat at them, and watched cautiously as they walked away.

The man they’d been beating on sat up, wincing. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Chisolm."

Sam offered him a hand up. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Care to even the ground  and share your name?"

"Goodnight Robicheaux, at your service."

Sam recognized the name, of course he did. Any soldier would. But despite the weight that his name carried, Robicheaux sounded more apologetic than proud. "I have more of a sense of just why those men were so focused on beating you into the ground now."

Robicheaux smiled sheepishly. "The name does have a certain cachet in some places. Seems I’ve strayed too far to the north."

"You might want to keep your jacket in your saddlebag until you’ve felt out the area."

"Point well taken, my friend." He brushed the dust off of himself. "Let me thank you for this. No, no, I insist. I’m headed for the finest hotel in this town, and I intend to pay for your room as well. I trust you’d planned to spend the night?"

"I did, yes." After a hard week on the road tracking a bounty, Sam could use a night in a bed, no matter how much the man offering that bed perplexed him.

He should have known it wouldn’t work out that easily. As soon as they walked through the door, Sam could tell he wouldn’t be getting a room that night. The concierge glared at him, Robicheaux’s presence seemingly the only thing stopping him from leaping the desk and throwing Sam out himself.

"I’m looking for two rooms for the night, for myself and my friend." Robicheaux had laid his money on the counter before he caught the look in the concierge’s eyes.

"We don’t serve his kind here."

"Now, there’s no need to make this difficult. I don’t think your boss would be happy to find out you turned Goodnight Robicheaux away--"

"I don’t care if you’re Jefferson Davis himself, your ‘friend’ ain’t getting a room."

Sam caught Robicheaux’s eye and shook his head. Robicheaux gave him a nod, then turned back to the counter and swept his money back into his coinpurse. "In that case, I won’t be needing one either."

  
  


"I’m more persuasive when I haven’t just had the sense beaten out of me," he said to Sam once they’d gone back outside.

"There was no need for persuasion on my account."

"I would have felt horribly guilty had I abandoned you after promising you a reward." Robicheaux smiled. "What would you say to sharing a bottle of whiskey instead?"

Robicheaux, as it turned out, had a very fine bottle of whiskey tucked away with the rest of his belongings and his horse. Sam accepted, they passed the bottle back and forth, and soon enough they’d been drinking for hours, leaned up against the stable where Robicheaux’s horse was stabled. He’d been making his way across the country, Sam learned, banking on his reputation and occasionally picking up a bounty when he ran low on funds. He was convivial and conversational, and it was easy for Sam to forget that they had been on opposite sides of the war not too long ago.

"I’m on my way to Fayetteville, on the trail of a murderer." Sam took another swig of whiskey. "Might be he’ll already have moved on when I get there, though, like he had from Topeka by the time I made it here."

"I’ll be heading that way myself. After the reception I received here, I feel I should make my way south." Robicheaux prodded at his rapidly-purpling cheekbone, wincing.

"With my quarry leading me south, I could use a companion, someone who’s a bit...whiter than myself. I’d split the bounty with you, of course, 75-25."

"Make it 60-40, and I’m in."

They shook on it and went back to drinking themselves into oblivion.

  
  


Sam woke up the next day with a splitting headache and a creeping regret. Had he really invited a complete stranger (and a rebel sniper, at that) to work with him?

Robicheaux didn’t share his regret, it seemed. He was leaning against the wall looking only a little worse for wear, like he made a habit of passing out outside of stables.

Maybe he did. After all, Sam knew absolutely nothing about the man, aside from the legends attached to his name.

"Have any further business in town, partner?" Robicheaux asked, sounding practically giddy to have a use for the word.

"Not unless you do, Goodnight." Sam kept his eyes on Robicheaux’s face. He didn’t know many Confederates, former or not, who wanted to hear his given name in a black man’s mouth instead of ‘sir’ or ‘mister’.

Robicheaux grinned. "My friends call me Goody."

  
  


The ride to Fayetteville was monotonous, albeit made less so by Robicheaux’s endless stories. By the second day, Sam found himself glad for the company, unusual for him. It was amazing how much Robicheaux could talk without revealing anything important about himself.

At night he revealed much more, mumbling about guilt and blood on his hands and a bird stalking him, escalating into screams. Not every night, but enough for Sam to notice. The first night it happened, Sam ignored him; he’d known more than a few men who reacted violently to being startled out of their nightmares, and he didn’t want a fist  to the face. The second night, he shook Robicheaux awake, deciding he wanted sleep enough to risk the punch. Robicheaux looked at him with sleep-blurred eyes for a few moments, thanked him, and laid back down (although Sam didn’t think he fell back asleep, judging by his bleariness the next morning). The third night, when Sam shook him, Robicheaux didn’t know where he was.

"War’s over, Goodnight." Sam sat down next to him, and Robicheaux grabbed onto his arm like a vise. "You’re with me, Sam Chisolm, in the ass-end of nowhere, Arkansas. You don’t need to shoot anyone."

"Oh," Robicheaux said, and his eyes focused for the first time that night. "Oh." And then his lips were on Sam’s, kissing like he was drowning and Sam was all the air he had.

Sam could have, maybe should have, nudged Robicheaux away, gone back to his own bedroll, and pretended in the morning that it had all been a dream. But damn it all, he wanted it, whatever it would turn out to be. So he wound his hand in Robicheaux’s hair and pulled him closer.

"I’m sorry," Robicheaux murmured when they pulled apart.

"Don’t be." Sam leaned in and kissed him again.

  
  


It had been a while since Sam woke up in someone else’s arms. Robicheaux was wrapped around him like a blanket, too hot under the rising sun, but Sam didn’t have the heart to shove him off.

He could tell when Robicheaux woke up by the way he tensed, pulling away from Sam as best he could with how tangled up they were. "Last night...that doesn’t have to happen again."

"Can it, if I ask nicely?"

Robicheaux laughed into Sam’s shoulder. "I have to admit I was hoping you’d say that."

Sam pressed a kiss to the side of Robicheaux’s face. "If you’re amenable to it, I wouldn’t mind keeping this partnership on for a few more bounties. You take the lead in the South, me in the North, and we split the take evenly."

Robicheaux—Goody—grinned. "You’ve got yourself a deal."


End file.
